


Repercussions

by Houjuu



Series: Stohn Oneshots [1]
Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Scene, Fall of Five, M/M, hints at deeper feelings, relatively platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houjuu/pseuds/Houjuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine still struggles with what happened over the last year, so much so it haunts his dreams and prevents him from sleeping. Who could possibly get hurt next because of him?</p><p>Stohn mention. Fall of Five alternate scene. Minor blood.</p><p>An older story that I really enjoyed writing but uses first person, sorry in advance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repercussions

Nine

The air of the lecture hall is quiet and cold enough that I can see delicate gray clouds of my breaths coming out in panting. I don't know how long I have been down here, punching away my problems with my favorite and only punching bag left. The other sacks have long spilt their brittle sand or snapped off entirely from their supports, all thanks to me. Sandor didn't feel the need to invest in new bags or install a new clock since a workout isn't a workout until it burns. 

He’s gone now.

The mere thought of Sandor hits a nerve somewhere in the back of my mind and I smash another fist against the tough fabric, feeling it rub hot like a fire against my knuckles. My fucking fault, it’ll always be my fucking fault. Sandor and Maddy, both of them, it will always be my fault.  
His last words, the blood curling screams of her and her family, all of them ring in my ears at once, fueling my assault. They are the same voices I hear in my darkest nightmares, the same whispers that breath against my ear as I wake each day.

Another voice joins in, it pipes up from the background of my thoughts, a soft murmur at first that gradually grew into a strong roar. A voice I’ve known only for a short time, a voice I’ve learned to listen for. Suddenly I’m on the roof, the cool summer night air tearing through my hair and licking my skin. My fist clenches a hoodie, dangling a struggling body over the busy Michigan avenue traffic below. His face comes into view, the same face I have slowly found myself lost in thought on over and over. His blue eyes blaze with a wild, panicked emotion, a deep realization, before he shuts them entirely in defeat. In my memories, I can see that Nine, Iike he isn't myself, letting him drop, killing one of my own out of enraged disbelief. Because he was weak enough to let some earth girl fool him and get his own guardian caught.

Because he fell for the crippling, useless chemicals of love once and let himself fall in it all again.

Feelings won't help, they never will. I'm constantly fighting two wars, one with my fists and one with my head, and I'm currently losing both. I lost Sandor, I lost a girl's entire family, and if I can't help myself, I'll lose him to-

Pain. 

A sharp agony brings me back. I yank my hand back and took a step away as the bag swung wildly in its place. Well… my hands sure fucking burn alright so clearly I'm now working out. Lore, it hurts. That last hit has me convinced my hand's broken with how badly it burns. I move my other hand in front of me to stop the bag's violent swing and jolt at the surprising pain from opening my fingers. I catch the bag with my shoulder instead and lift my hand up to investigate. I see blood, a good amount of it too. I raise my other hand and sure enough, it's everywhere. My knuckles on both sides are bleeding like crazy, to where it's dripping down in front of my feet and down my arm. I glance over at the bag to see the dark red stains blending in on the fabric. 

Reality hits. How long have I been down here? How long have my hands been scraped like this?

I let out a frustrated sigh. I can't tell if this is helping or hurting me anymore, the physical pain should say enough.

"What are you doing?" 

The tired voice catches me off guard. I hadn't heard the door open and I try to not let it show that my visitor took me by surprise. 

Worst of it all is that I know who it is and immediately feel like shit. I woke him up. I know his voice pretty well by now. He's the last person I'd like to see right now, not like this.

"Just getting a workout in boss, can't blame a guy for trying to stay hot." I turn to face John, who's standing in the doorway to the stairwell. His short blonde hair is a complete mess and he's in a shirt and pair of sweats that don't match. He probably just got up judging by the haste in his clothes but his eyes look wide awake, ready. Not to mention as pretty as always and from a distance, I can make out their beautiful blue color. Fuck me.

Even now in his disheveled state, he's good looking. I'm very possibly checking him out as we speak.

"I heard you slam your door earlier but I figured it was something more than you throwing a fit when I heard the sound of chains rattling." He yawned midway through and I mentally slap myself for not being careful. He points out the partially swinging bag and continues. "Are you cool now or should I wait to ask any further?"

"You're worried about me? Please, don't you know me by now Johnny, I'm fucking crazy. Who else goes wakes up to workout at midnight when the air turns on?" I force a laugh but John catches it immediately. He narrows his eyes, studying me closely.

"Well it's closer to two now and it's just us, Nine. What's going on?" He asks, carefully stepping around the Malcolm Goode mess of tools and electronics to get closer to me. I feel a small sense of panic when the cold blood starts dripping off of my fingers. I only just remember how raw my injured hands are, and it slowly sinks in that I've been down here for almost two hours of my insomnia beating the shit out of myself. The bloody mess is hidden behind my back and just out of John's view. I just hope he doesn't look and notice.

Once again, I wasn't careful with myself.

He's directly in front of me now, a small frown on his face. I force myself not to stare into his eyes, and instead take a step backwards and look off instead. I laugh uncomfortably. "Can I help you with something?" 

He sighs and I turn my head to look back at him. A slightly annoyed look crossed his face, causing his blue to glow with thought. "You're the one that woke me up by being a dick, I'll let you talk."

"Well not intentionally. If I wanted you up, I would have thrown BK or Sam on you like normal people. But since I really don't want to see you and your girlfriend butt naked and in the middle of something, I'd knock first." I joke, grinning wickedly as he steps back with his hands up in defense. The best way to waft the heat off of me is to throw it into a barb at someone else and with John, the teasing is like beginner level gaming.

"No you wouldn't- Woah, we are not like that! Like you're one to talk anyway, Nine. Do you know how many rooms I've walked into where there's a secret drawer just for condoms and lube? It's nuts." He's flustered when trying to explain himself and I laugh at him. It relieves the tension a little.

"You are far too easy, my friend. Just implying sex to you makes you uncomfortable." Vaguely implying John and Sarah having sex in one of my beautiful, well furnished bedrooms also makes me angry but this show must go on. "You really do need my guidance, Four." I shake my head, a smile still on my face but it quickly drops when I see his expression. He's looking behind me, squinting to get a better picture, his mouth slightly open. "What's wrong with you this time?"

"What's that?" I freeze. I had completely forgot that the bag is stained with my blood. He sees the gory scarlet stains of my blood. He has to. Fuck. I look over my shoulder, far past the bag to try and distract him with something else, anything else. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm not seeing anything." I quickly shift in front of John's line of sight even further so he can no longer see the stained fabric. I turn my head back towards him and am met with the crossed look on his face. 

"No you idiot, on the bag. Let me look at it." His voice rises slightly and he reaches for my arm to push me aside but I catch his wrist before he can touch me. I wince as my palm opens and the fingers closes on his warm skin. I have to play it off like I'm fine, even though I can’t tell if it’s hurting from opening my hand or touching John’s boiling hot skin. His blue eyes glare at me. They always glow with everything John feels and right now they’re a flame. Do not stare for too long. "Can I help you?" He groans dryly, purposely repeating me. I let myself smirk; something I really like about John is he's one of the only ones to challenge me and he doesn't do it to be an ass like Five or occasionally Sam.

"I don't know, can you? I don't think I'm the one who needs help." My hand is practically disintegrating off of my bones. I have to inhale to relax and even that doesn’t work. Kill me. "You could have just asked to touch this body, I am VERY inviting for someone to feel up my muscles actually, I’ve been needing to get some." I laugh as he rolls his eyes at me. 

The worst part is I'd like that from him. A lot.

Then, he looks down at my hand at the exact time that I remembered. I'm wounded and am currently bleeding everywhere. Shit shit shit. I pull my hand back and hide it from his view behind my back. I smile uncomfortably. He stares at me, right into my eyes. I'm forced to stare back; I feel myself tensing up under his gaze, possibly getting red even. I don’t get nervous but here I am barely holding myself together while looking into the beautiful stare of John Smith.

"What's the problem?" I ask, forcing a smile across my face again. My knuckles are practically burning. 

"This is?" John's voice sounds like it's trying to stay calm. It’s shaking but I can’t tell if it’s with shock or anger. He holds up his forearm that is now gently glistening red with my blood. "What the hell is going on with you?" He pushes past me to the sack and freezes. I turn my back to him and cross my arms. 

"You wouldn't get it." I snapped back without turning to face him. 

"Try me, Stanley." He countered, letting his anger show. The use of my old alias takes me off guard. The Great Nine suddenly has no comebacks. Fuck me. The chains holding the bag make a quiet squeak, probably from John messing with it. I keep my back turned and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I mean it." He adds quietly and I think I'm imagining the flood of worry in his tone. 

"I've been sleeping like shit, how does that sound. Good enough?" I retort. 

"Because that's a good reason to come down and hurt yourself in the middle of the night." John snaps back at me. His hand is on my shoulder, but I pull away and step forward. 

"It wasn't intentional, it just sort of happened in the heat of the moment. I didn't realize there was blood until it started to hurt." I growl at him.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me, Stan." That name again. 

"First of all, I'm a master of silence. You'll be down here with me for a long time. Second, don't call me that." I laugh darkly. Out of everyone I could have disturbed, it had to be him. This could go on for hours, the never ending game of fuck yous. Unfortunately but very predictably, he doesn't back off. 

"You're hilarious." John counters with his familiar dry tone. "Then I'm a master in patience, we're even. You don't get the nickname 'Mom' without being annoying." Lore is he stubborn. I look over my shoulder at him, who's standing with his back pressed against the bag, that stupid smile on his face. I shake my head at him; I don't know if I want to be angry or excited that he's finally being an ass back to me. "Nothing to say or is it game time? Someone has to push you the same way you shove everyone else." His smile grows. I hate how it helps me relax. I’m not trying to stay quiet, I just refuse to say anything that proves he’s right. 

Lore I hate it when John’s right.

"Actually, wait." John walks up from behind and moves in front of me so he's blocking my view. He puts out a hand. "Let's see how bad it is first. This will make two times I have had to heal you in the past day, honestly Nine." 

"I can handle myself, 'Mom', I'm a grown up." I reply, trying to keep the smirk off my face when John once again rolls his eyes in response. I love harassing him far too much.

"Whatever you say." He sighed. "Let's go back up so I can see it in more light without having to burn your skin off with my legacies."

"You might as well, Johnny, this burns enough as it is."

\---

I hate this feeling. This weakened feeling. The feeling of "I haven't changed in a year despite everything that has happened.” Instead of being, it's like I'm trying to be this cocky asshole but I'm still small, stupid Stanley. Next time I'll have to be more careful that someone doesn't follow me around, I just don't want to explain anything. I'm a lot better than this, I’m a shallow grave and I prefer it that way.

We're upstairs now, with a single light from the kitchen on above us. Apparently a single light from the kitchen is more than the low glow of the lecture hall. I'm sitting on the tiled counter next to the sink with John standing and studying my knuckles. His expression is focused, sharp, and handsome even. Fuck me. His hands holding mine are warm, probably the first time they've ever been perfect temperature. I'm so used to them always being so damn hot in fights or arguments. They're the perfect warm to hold right now, honestly. 

I think about slapping myself. He's not interested, never will be. Love sucks. I let out a loud sigh before I'm fully aware I’m making any sound at all. John looks up at me, confused, but doesn't say anything and just goes back to my bloody hands.

"Just thinking about how unfair it is that I'm so pretty." I grin when he looks back up at me. He can't keep the small smile from raising. "I'm all natural too, no added content." He shakes his head slowly. "What, don't believe me? I can't help it if I'm perfect. Beauty isn't a lesson I can teach you, Johnny, but I'll try." He laughs softly to himself. My smile grows at the sound. 

God dammit.

"You’re trying, I’ll give you that, but I'm still going to ask what happened downstairs, Nine." 

"Yeah, I know, you're unbearable like that." I look off, searching for a clock to give me the time. Or really just looking for anything else so I don't have to focus on John. I can feel the icy tingle of his healing legacy repairing my raw skin. It's as if I forced my bare hands into numbing, chilled water, it’s not as refreshing as someone in pain would hope. But it works for me. My pain tolerance has really built up in the past few years.

A thought crosses my mind instead. A bizarre little realization. I'm starting to realize that I do a lot of stupid things. They're usually worth it though. When the wonderful Number Nine has a dumb thought, it automatically becomes a brilliant one after all.

"If I woke you up, Four, then where's the better, prettier half of the packed deal?" I look back at John, a smug smile on my face. Teasing, it's my coping.

"She's not up." He simply replies, not taking his eyes off of his work. Something in his voice, in his reaction feels wrong. He should have jumped me about that.

I decide, for better or for much worse, to press further. "I figured you two would be up all night wrapped in each other and talking all mushy and shit."

"Nope" was his only response to that, with a click of his tongue and everything. Yep, something's wrong.

"Did you wear her out tonight or something? She's only human, Johnny, slow down between the sheets. When's the wedding?" John finally looks up at me as I smirk. I’m proud of my poker face, I’ve put a lot of practice into it. He has a stiff but sad frown on his face though, however.

"No and that’s not happening." He shrugs and looks down at his feet. "We... Well, we broke up a few nights ago. We haven't slept in the same room since the first night and have been generally distant. Sarah still wants to stay here though, it might be dangerous to send her home anyway."

I stare at him, all snarky words lost on my tongue and somewhere in the back of my throat. I immediately feel like an ass, hell I am an ass. We just sit there awkwardly in front of each other. The downside to being the team's vocal sasquatch is being a big ass.

"So… uh, does anyone else know or were we waiting for me to make this awkward in front of everyone? That seems to be what ends up happening after all."

John laughs at me. "I didn't realize that you were self aware, Nine." He smiles slightly when I glare at him. "But no, Sam knew right away what happened and I think Six caught on sometime soon after. We tried making it work with dates and the training, we tried everything, it just wasn't working out anymore. There just felt like a lot of pressure or too much happening between us… I blame myself." He sighs.

"Because that definitely helps. Didn't you just play parent with me over keeping my moody shit in?" He peeks up at me. "I could hit you." He grins a little more.

"Please don't." 

After a brief second to think, I cave in. I let out a loud, defeated sigh. "Fine, you told me a shitty secret, I'll tell you a shitty one." He raises a brow but doesn't respond. "I have been sleeping like complete shit, that part is real, but it's because... I think a lot. I have gotten so used to it by now that my thoughts are kind of like a lifetime movie of suffering. Tonight, insomnia kicked in and it just..." I can't finish speaking. I sound so fucking dumb, I'm sure even John thinks so. I look down at my bloodied hands, hoping it's enough for him. They're healed and warm now, but still brown with my blood. 

But John's soft skinned hands are still holding mine. That's an upside. I'm so sappy.

"And what?" He asks slowly. God dammit. I don't answer him. I don't want to. "Go on, Stanley." That doesn't help.

"Why do you insist on using that name?" I hiss at him and snapping up to meet his eyes. His hands tighten around mine. Now they’re hot, like what I'm used to; he’s getting angry and I can feel it. His stare is level.

"What are you worked up about?" John counters then smiles like he's won. Those eyes, however, take my attention. His eyes glow with his smile. I hate that he’s handsome, that his face and all of its features pull you in with a little smile and a tinkle in the eye. "There's nothing wrong with a name."

"I don't get worked up," I reply flatly. "and I just hate how it sounds."

"Like 'John Smith' is any better? They all suck, that was the point." He blinks and looks down at our hands as if he just remembered what happened. He lets go of my hands immediately and backs up. He crosses his arms and leans against the oven like nothing happened. 

I raise a brow. "Yeah, thanks Mom." 

"If I'm Mom, then you're Dad, Stan." I want to get angry with him for using 'Stanley' against me so much but I can't. I find myself trying not to laugh instead.

"Stan is such a Dad name too, Sandor is probably laughing in his grave over this." I add with a loud, obnoxious sigh. John laughs at me. A small smile comes to my face. I remember him pushing me to go out and be who I want. He pushed me towards the gym, to Maddy, and to dating her and freaking her out with a high-speed chase in the city. 

Would he have pushed me towards going after John, I wonder.

"You didn't get to choose your name? I mean look at you, you look like a," he paused to think of a name; it's nice to know none of us are good at this, "like a Lance or... maybe Tyler, something more… exotic or Hollywood.” 

"Quit thinking so much before you get a serious headache. We kind of need you to think about other more important things." I add, hoping my tone is just drenched in sarcasm. I laugh when he frowned and shook his head.

"Yeah, like about you for instance." I let out an obnoxious, angry sigh, hop down from the counter and walk away from him. "I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me, 'Dad'." I look over my shoulder back at John, who has proceeded to follow me with a smug smile across his face.

"So help me if this catches on, Four..." I try to sound angry but I'm smiling. He has this way of getting under me; imagine if it were in a few different ways. I turn to face him. 

John just laughs. "You're the one that said Stan's a Dad name, Nine." He walks right up to me, standing just a step in front of me. "I didn't even have to try, you set me up."

"Well that makes us married then, Johnny, I'm sure you're thrilled! Someone finally tied the knot with big, bad Stanley." I'm enjoying this too much now. John just shakes his head at me.

"Well, honey, married people talk about their days and their fears, so you should tell me what's going on before I have to threaten you with divorce." I snort. He's bringing the heat now. 

"I didn't realize you could be this funny, Johnny." Somewhere in that blonde field, I think he knows not to press this any farther. That or the serious, tense energy between us was lost amongst the laughter and sass. We’re either in each other’s faces trying to hurt one another or like this, laughing or gently digging at each other with no alternate motivation.

"I'll blame the measly two hours of sleep I got thanks to you, you could at least give me an idea-"

I shrug his comment off, disappointed that I was wrong. He still has yet to drop it and I’m done talking about it. I smirk at him in return, ready to take this conversation in a whole new direction. "Aww, does Mom need Dad to help him fall back asleep? I could easily wear you out, Johnny." I even add a wink for good measure. To my surprise, instead of recoiling in horror like I figured, he flushes red. Interesting, he usually just shoves me aside and yells at me for implying anything. "Your face is awfully red there, pal, something you want to share?"

"Back off Nine, I asked you first." John's words come out rushed and I have to hold down my smile from growing. I take a step towards him. How far can I get away with pushing him.

"You know what else married people do, Four?" I move closer and whisper to him. He tries to back away from me but I grab his arms and hold him in place. I stare into his beautiful blue eyes. We’re close enough that I could straight up kiss him right now and the downside is I really want to. But that's not my style. He's completely still, just waiting for me to say something. His eyes drift down my face, nervous. "Well… nothing, because they're married." I let him go and back up, cackling. 

John turns his back to me almost immediately. "You're insane." His voice shakes a little. The tips of his ears are bright red, showing his embarrassment. Success.

"What did I tell you earlier, I'm pretty fucking weird Johnny." I shrug. He still doesn't turn back to me. I should have kissed him, dammit. I won't get that chance again. Fuck it, I can’t get in a much deeper hole than this. "I mean, if you're so bummed out about it, I could just make out with you.” If it wasn’t gone before, the original ‘fight’ was now lost in the room somewhere and really I didn’t care. He’ll find out one way or another eventually I’m sure, he’s that irritating after all.

“No, I think I’m good… besides, you’d like that too much.”


End file.
